


A Slight Mishap

by LuckyOwlsFoot



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyOwlsFoot/pseuds/LuckyOwlsFoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray hadn't really expected the Vagabond to text him sometime after dark, but it's clear the mercenary ran into some form of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slight Mishap

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of a series of fics I'm working on that explore the time before Ryan ended up in the FAHC. As such, it takes place sometime before he joins the crew.

//yu free,?// Ray reread the text. Then checked the sender again. ‘Rye Bread’. So, unless Gavin or Michael had shuffled around his contacts, something was very wrong.  
/Ya what do you need?/ He typed out quickly. It took a too-long moment for Ryan to respond. Ray kept turning his screen back on as to not miss the notification. After a painfully long wait – though really it couldn’t have been longer than a minute or two – the reply finally came  
//could us a pickup// it was followed by a street name and 2 building numbers. Ray already had his keys in hand, thumb scrolling over a map. The road was easy enough to find. It was a seedy part of town, too far from the docks to be considered part of their district, but close enough to see all sorts of illicit trade. Ray was sure he’d turned down its alleys to dodge the cops at one point or another. 

It was a short drive; longer than it could have been, but the last thing Ryan needed was cop attention. He pulled up on the street and slowed, one hand on the silenced pistol he’d shoved in a cup holder. He couldn’t see anything from the street, not that he’d expected to. Forgoing subtlety, he parked in front of one of the rundown buildings. The alleyway was coated in tags, tuning the old red-brown brick into a warzone of white, purple, and black paint. Old brown markings over the tags could only be dried blood or worse. He didn’t look too hard. He kept his hands – and gun – in his hoodie pocket, not sure what to expect and potentially needing every advantage. 

He needn’t have worried.

As he crossed around the stack of garbage bags that had been piled next to the wall, he came face to – well – stomach to shotgun. The cold spike of adrenalin soon calmed as he recognized the grey skull that was Ryan’s mask. Ryan seemed to recognize him as well as the shotgun dropped heavily back into Ryan’s lap.  
“Jesus Ry’,” Ray breathed, hastily checking around the alley as he dropped to crouch next to Ryan and thumbed on the safety of his pistol. In the dim light Ryan’s jeans looked more black than blue, dark splotches spreading from multiple cuts and gouges. The dark leather of Ryan’s jacket hid most of its damage, but Ray could see multiple holes already.  
“Shit.”

“Hey,” Ryan croaked in greeting he chuckled wetly and Ray swore again.  
“Dude, I can’t patch up a bullet in your lungs. You need a hospital,” Ray replied, already trying to come up with escape plans to get Ryan back out. Police always kept an eye out for gunshot victims after a major shootout. He’d be shoved into lockdown as soon as he got out of surgery. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Ryan countered, head rolling back against the brick behind him. Ray tried not to notice the fresh red smears along the walls, “Don’t need a hospital.”

Ray didn’t believe him, but knew once the police got their hands on him, Ryan was never getting away.  
“Can you stand?” Ray asked instead of arguing. There was no way he could pick Ryan up alone. He could drag him but it probably would hurt more than it helped.  
“Ya,” Ryan huffed, lifting an arm in a silent request. Ray ducked under the arm, draping it over his shoulders and helped lever Ryan to his feet. For a moment after they were upright, Ryan’s full weight dropped onto Ray’s shoulders, but Ryan soon found his feet.

“Holy god dude,” Ray sputtered, the ‘you’re dying’ part went unsaid. Now that he was close enough, he could see Ryan’s neck was covered in red blood dripping from under the mask. For a moment Ray’s thoughts jumped to places he could dump a body, but he shoved them stubbornly out of his head. He’d drag Ryan to the hospital before things got that far and stage a break out if he had to.

They hobbled slowly back to Rays car, Ryan eerily silent for someone walking on legs with holes in them; he had to be cracking his teeth with how hard he was gritting them. Ray lowered Ryan into the back seat before fishing for the first aid kit he kept up front. It had rolled up under the dashboard and by the time he managed to drag it out he was starting to feel twitchy. They’d stayed too long, he decided chucking the kit back to Ryan. Every echo of a police siren had him edging for his gun.

“Your apartment or mine?” Ray asked as he started his car and pulled out. He wished he could take Ryan to one of the crew’s safe houses. They were well stocked and out of the way. Plus there was less of a chance of their neighbors catching them.  
“Bill and Nancy are getting off work right about now,” Ryan said in way of answer. It took a moment to place the names. They were Ryan’s neighbors; pleasant enough people, but if Ray remembered correctly Nancy worked for Dispatch. Not Ryan’s apartment them.

The drive back was even longer than the one out had been. Ray was very careful to drive the speed limit – a test of restraint with the occasional wet cough from Ryan where he was sprawled across the back seats. More than one cruiser zipped past them, lights and sirens blaring. They soon passed an equally sleazy part of the district as the one where Ray had found Ryan. The construction site was bathed in blue and red lights from the police cruisers. One officer was beginning to roll out tape to block the area off. Countless cop cars littered the area and Ray counted at least three ambulances. Ray swore silently as traffic ahead of them slowed to look at the spectacle. Ryan was carefully still as they lingered, practically holding his breathe. 

Leaving the scene behind was barely better; more cruisers continued to streak passed them, along with a few more ambulances. They both breathed a sigh of relief when Ray finally parked in front of his apartment. 

Belatedly, he realized it had been a few days since he’d been home. He, Michael, and Gavin had been crashing at Geoff’s apartment in the middle of a heated videogame marathon. Even with Michael leaving on what Gavin had been sure was a date and thus ending the session, Ray hadn’t thought about heading back to his apartment. He set the thought aside for future dissection, and moved to help Ryan up.

Ryan popped the door open, dragging the mask off his face and spitting blood onto the pavement. He was a mess. His sweat-and-blood matted hair stuck up at odd angles and his face from the nose down was coated in blood. His face paint was starting to run from it, leaving the black of the eye sockets about the only part intact; the rest was a messy pool of fresh, clotting, and drying blood. It had dripped down the sides of his face as he’d been laying in the back seat. He looked like something out of a horror film. 

“If I swallow anymore blood I’ll puke,” Ryan groaned and swiped at the blood still dripping from his chin. And his boot’s hit the pavement, Ray finally remembered he was supposed to be helping. 

Unlike Ryan’s building, Ray’s apartment was a rundown place. Its tenants tended to keep long or odd hours. They encountered no one. Ray fumbled his door open and dragged Ryan inside, happily flipping the deadbolt once they were safely inside. The apartment was just as he’d left it, slightly messy with cans of monster left on tables and counters. Ryan caught his reflection in the mirror Ray had to see the door from the couch and laughed. Ray jumped slightly.

“Sorry,” Ryan chuckled, arm swiping at his face, further smearing the blood across his face, “Didn’t realize I looked that bad.”

Ray dropped him off on the couch – it was dark for a reason – and shuffled into the kitchen. He filled a pot with water and set it on the stove, then grabbed a clean cup filled it with water and microwaved it. He dragged out the big first aid kit from under the sink and snagged a few clean rags. Balancing all this and the cup of now-warm water, he returned to Ryan on the couch. Ryan had pulled his leather jacket off, and was holding the neck of his shirt off his skin, looking down his front. Ray counted six dark holes in the once green V-neck – really, Ryan? – and winced. Blood had soaked almost all the way down Ryan’s front and the round tears fluttered grimly. He really didn’t want Ryan dying on his couch. Ryan glanced up as the supplies clicked on the coffee table and rolled his eyes. He pulled his long combat knife from a sheath on the back of his belt and sliced down the front of his ruined shirt.

Black body armor, the top stained with drying blood from his face, peaked from between the halves of his shirt. Ray nearly sagged in relief. 

“Fucker,” Ray chided, “you could have said you were wearing armor.” Ryan’s head rolled back onto the couch.  
“Didn’t I?” Ray shoved the cup and a rag into Ryan’s hands.  
“Shut up and fix your face.”


End file.
